The Stand In
by alynwa
Summary: Originally written for the Once Upon a Time challenge on LJ. This story references my tale "Like a Phoenix from Ashes," but you don't have to read it first.


"The choice is yours, Solo" stated the agent's latest captor. "Either you kill your partner quickly, or I kill him slowly. I'll give you both five minutes to talk it over." And with that, the satrap leader signaled his guards to follow him and exited the area leaving the two UNCLE agents alone in their cell.

They had been Louis Beaumont's prisoners for approximately seventy – two hours; the bulk of that time they had been brutally tortured and interrogated about the upcoming Summit Five meeting. All THRUSH knew was that it was happening, but not where or when. When it became clear to Beaumont that neither man was going to break, his frustration prompted him to give the ultimatum.

Napoleon was on the floor propped up against the cell wall, his shirt in tatters, one eye nearly swollen shut. He was fairly certain none of his bones were broken; he was thankful that Beaumont's goons were accomplished batterers. Nothing was worse than an amateur. They were the ones who caused permanent damage or even death without meaning to which of course was no consolation to the maimed or dead agent.

He looked at his partner who was in a similar state and position opposite him. It seemed to him that Beaumont and his guys had divided their time equally between the two of them, but Illya looked like he had suffered more. _That pale skin of his makes those bruises stand out,_ he thought. Aloud he said, "We don't have much time. By now, there should be a search party looking for us; we've missed three check – ins."

The Russian nodded agreement. "Waverly would have sent a team out after two missed check – ins. If we are lucky, a Strike Team will be here soon."

"We just need to stay alive until then which is why I'm telling Beaumont that I'm not going to kill you and offer myself to him instead."

Illya shook his head. "You are half – right, moy droog. We do need to stay alive until help arrives, but we will go along with Beaumont's plan as he stated it. I will be the one to undergo his torture. Not you."

"No. That's an order, Kuryakin."

Illya didn't respond, just dropped his chin to his chest and remained silent. A moment later, Beaumont and three of his men reentered the cell area. Napoleon struggled to his feet to approach the cell door. He was watching the THRUSH so intently that he failed to see his partner gather himself and dive at him. By the time he realized what was happening, Illya had his arms around his neck in a sleeper hold. He felt himself losing consciousness and then, he felt nothing.

The Russian gently laid his partner on the cell floor and then stood up. "My partner wanted to change the terms of your offer," he said calmly by way of explanation. He stepped up to the cell door. "Let us get started."

Mark Slate and his partner April Dancer had been tracking Kuryakin and Solo since Waverly had informed them the CEA and his partner had gone missing. Fortunately, they got a break in the case when the UNCLE Los Angeles office captured a THRUSH courier and were able to break him with the use of Veritol 19, the veridical developed by Kuryakin himself. He advised his questioners that the missing agents were being held in a satrap outside of Sacramento and drew a crude map and even a blueprint of the satrap's layout. That information had been forwarded immediately to Dancer and Slate who pulled together a Strike Team to attack the site.

Napoleon was dreaming. He couldn't quite make out what was being said, but he was hearing voices. At first, they were normal conversational tones, but suddenly those tones were replaced by shouting and banging. Realization hit him like a brick. _Those are gunshots!_ His eyes snapped open to reveal three things: He was lying on the floor, Illya was lying senseless and bloody outside the cell and they were alone. He sat up just as the door leading to the rest of the satrap was blown off its hinges and Mark bounded in gun drawn.

"There's no one here!" Napoleon shouted, "See to Illya!"

Mark immediately dropped to both knees and checked for a pulse. "It's thready, but it's there. Cor blimey, what the hell did they _do_ to him?" he asked as he took in the Russian's cuts, bruises and contusions as he pulled his communicator and asked for a helicopter to medivac Illya to UNCLE Medical.

"I don't know," Napoleon moaned, "He knocked me out." He began slowly dragging himself off the floor when April entered.

"Beaumont and the others are dead," she reported as she wrapped priming wire around the lock of the cell and triggered it with her watch so that Napoleon could push the door open after it extinguished itself. "The Strike Team is going to stay behind and search for anything useful while we accompany you and Illya to Reno."

"Leave the car keys with one of the guys, Luv; I've called in a chopper."

Napoleon moved to kneel next to his partner and stroke his hair. "Hang in there, Buddy. You're going to be okay. You're going to get better. And then, I'm going to kill you."

Things sped up after that. Despite his protestations, the doctor onboard the chopper administered a sedative to the CEA and when he awoke, he was dressed in a hospital gown and lying in a private room. There was a nurse with her back to him changing out IV bags and when she turned, he was shocked. "Betty?"

"Napoleon, hi; I didn't realize you woke up! Here, take a sip of water." She raised the bed and held the glass while he sipped from the straw.

He finished and let his head sink back into the pillow. "You're a pleasant surprise. When did you transfer to Reno?"

"I didn't. You're back in UNCLE New York."

A knot started to form in Napoleon's stomach. " _What?_ How long was I out? Where's my partner? How is Illya?"

"Napoleon, try to calm down. I'll notify the doctors that you're awake and have questions." Betty had dated the CEA a couple of times and found him quite charming, but now the eyes she had thought of as "warm and chocolicious" looked hard, cold and _dangerous._ She had actually taken a step back from him.

" _Now_ ," he growled at her, "Tell them I want answers now." He knew he had scared her and felt absolutely no remorse about it as he watched her scramble to get out of there. Moments later, Dr. Ramirez walked into the room. "What's going on with my partner?"

"Easy, Agent Solo, we don't want your blood pressure spiking." He saw that his attempt to lighten the mood had fallen quite flat. "I'm still fairly new to UNCLE, but I've been made aware that it's fine, encouraged even, to share diagnoses and prognoses of one partner's condition to the other. So, you two were airlifted to Reno where it was determined that Mr. Kuryakin's condition was too severe to be successfully treated there, so the staff at Reno stabilized him as best they could and you were both flown here on an UNCLE medical flight. You got here to HQ approximately four hours ago. He's still in surgery. This Beaumont guy really did a number on him. Couple of broken ribs, a broken wrist, three broken toes, a moderate concussion, cuts all over his body, many requiring stitches. There is also internal damage. The injuries Mr. Kuryakin suffered were meant to be cumulative; no one is fatal, but taken together, the body can't take the trauma and dies. It's truly a miracle he survived."

"Oh my God. I want to see him." Napoleon attempted to sit up, but was gently pushed back by the doctor.

"Like I said, Agent Solo, he's still in surgery and I expect he will be for at least two more hours. I will arrange for you to share a room with him after he leaves Recovery. In the meantime, wouldn't you like to know the extent of _your_ injuries?"

"Not really. I feel achy from my bruises, I'm not wearing any casts or in surgery, so I'm fine. So fine, in fact, that I'm wondering why I'm still here."

"Besides the fact that you just woke up, we think you have a mild concussion so you'll be staying overnight for observation and since your partner's here, you might as well have a bed in his room since you'll be there anyway. Also, you're still a bit dehydrated and malnourished and we're addressing that. Now if you through terrifying Nurse Betty, I'll be sending her back in here to take your vitals and then I suggest you get some rest."

Staff came to his room three times after Doctor Ramirez left: Nurse Betty as promised and to whom he apologized, Illya's surgeon (Smith, he thought) to tell him that Illya was in the Recovery room and finally, an orderly who rolled him to the room he was to share with his partner.

Illya was already there, awake and watching warily as Napoleon's bed was rolled into place and all his IVs set up. The orderly, perhaps sensing the tension in the room, worked quickly and bade the men goodnight.

In the silence that followed, Napoleon took in as much of Illya as he could see. There were bandages up and down both arms and he could see stitches on the man's neck and on his scalp where the hair was shaved away. He knew from experience that his ribs and toes were wrapped to stabilize the bones as they healed. He also knew from experience that when the anesthesia wore off, Illya was going to be in a world of hurt.

"Illya."

"Do not start with me, Napoleon. I am alive and we are safe."

"From what the doctor told me, you were barely alive when we got to Reno. Fill in some blanks for me, Illya. What happened? The last thing I remember in the satrap is you disobeying a direct order and taking me down."

"I will spare you the gory details, but I will say that Beaumont is an expert in torture. There were a few moments when the pain was such that I hoped I would die and I did not. I was grateful that you did not awaken. If the situation were reversed, it would have driven me mad to watch you being tortured."

A knock on the door stopped the CEA from responding. Mr. Waverly entered and went to stand between the two beds. "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin, I had heard you were out of the Recovery room. How are you feeling?"

"I am still feeling the effects of the pain medicines, so I feel all right."

"And you, Mr. Solo, how are you feeling?"

"May I speak freely, Sir?"

"You may."

"I'm feeling like my partner's life is undervalued."

Number One frowned at him. "What are you talking about, Mr. Solo?"

"Six years ago, Slater Gray, may he rest in peace,* told me and Doctor Jameson confirmed that certain people are thought of as 'Crown Princes' and that if ah, that person happened to be active Section II, his partner doubled as a bodyguard for him."

"And you want to know if this alleged situation pertains to you and Mr. Kuryakin?"

"I do."

The older man sighed. "I will tell both of you something you already know: Agents are expendable. _All_ agents, even the ones being groomed for Section I. Having said that, it is no secret that you, Agent Solo, are on the fast track to move into Section I. However, it is also no secret that Mr. Kuryakin's value as a scientist has increased exponentially since he has been quite successful in developing truth serums and miniaturizing some of our technology. _He_ is on track to head up Research and Development when he retires from the field."

Napoleon's eyes widened. "I didn't know that! Did you, Illya?"

"I did."

Napoleon started to say something, but Mr. Waverly waved him silent. "I asked Mr. Kuryakin not to say anything to anyone as his elevation was not what you would call a 'done deal.' Now, it is as certain as your own promotion, so I'm sure he would have told you eventually. I'm telling you now because you asked if an alleged situation pertained to you and your partner and the answer is: No, it does not. Not anymore. If anything, you both are allegedly Crown Princes and even though all agents are expendable, I would appreciate very much if you two managed to stay alive." Waverly glanced at his watch. "I have a teleconference in fifteen minutes." He turned to face the Russian. "I am glad that you came through your surgery so well. I expect you will cooperate with the medical staff." He turned back to Solo and nodded his head. "Take care of yourself, Mr. Solo, and do try not to intimidate the nursing staff."

Both men watched their superior leave. Napoleon looked at his partner. "I know you need to rest, but I have to know something. The Old Man told you that you should no longer consider yourself my bodyguard?"

"Yes, sometime ago, actually."

"Then why, Illya? Why did you knock me out and take my place? You didn't have to do that!"

"What can I say? Old habits die hard," he said and smiled as much as his stitches allowed. When he saw that Napoleon wasn't smiling he said softly, "Napoleon, there was no guarantee that Beaumont would go along with your suggestion. He could have shot you dead and tortured me anyway or shot us both dead. Either way, one or both of us would not have survived. Doing it his way bought us enough time for the Strike Team to arrive."

"You had no idea the cavalry would save the day," Napoleon observed.

"And neither did you. It was a calculated risk I was willing to take. I may no longer be your bodyguard, but I am still your friend and I love you. And now, I am going to sleep before the pain comes back." He settled comfortably into the bed. "Oh, and I am much, much tougher than you are."

Napoleon was about to protest, but saw the grin on the blond's face. "Maybe you are, Tovarisch, maybe you are," he said as he turned off the lamp between the beds and prepared to sleep. _When we get out of here, I'm making him the best meal ever._ Aloud he said before dropping off, "I love you, too."


End file.
